


Serpent From Eden/Snake From Hell

by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Snakes? Snakes., post 3x24, “They’re Back; Aren’t They” Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningUpASunJustToSayHello/pseuds/BurningUpASunJustToSayHello
Summary: What, after all, is a prayer from the Devil truly worth? What is it compared to the ash and dust and death that make up his soul?





	Serpent From Eden/Snake From Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IceQueen1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceQueen1/gifts).



> A (very late) gift for the ever patient IceQueen1! Give her love! Her prompt was  Snake Eyes  by Mumford and Sons! Lyrics [here](https://www.google.com/amp/s/genius.com/amp/Mumford-and-sons-snake-eyes-lyrics)
> 
> Sorry if the formatting is weird. My hard drive crashed while I was writing this and so I'm posting from mobile!

The apartment door is so familiar to Lucifer that it feels out of place amongst the new potted plants and freshly painted drywall.

He’s not sure how long it’s been for her. If it’s been as long as it’s felt to him, he’s not sure she’ll remember anything positive about him. The fear that welled up in her blue eyes that day in the loft slithers to the forefront of Lucifer’s mind.                           

He shudders. It’s too warm in here.                   

Despite it, Lucifer goes to open the door the way he used to. Back when the woman behind it still didn’t know the truth.           

The handle shifts the same under his fingertips, and the hinges glide as soundlessly as he remembers.

He sends a silent prayer of thanks that something of his old life remains, despite the fact that she’ll never hear it. The prayers are recent and frequent and none of them are ever addressed to his Father. And as pathetic as Lucifer considers them, they’re still a comfort in the same twisted way that _déjà vu_ is in a cell that he's never visited before.          

A morose laugh shatters the soft silence, and Lucifer imagines her door morphing into one of the millions of ash-stained ones in Hell, because just like them, hers is unlocked.       

Lucifer walks into the apartment.                    

The woman in question stands in the kitchen, illuminated by a single overhead light, and looking every bit the divine creature he himself used to be.

Her back is to him, but Lucifer can still make out the lines of her body. Every intimate curve he'd once traced with his fingertips still looks soft and gentle.

As far as he can tell, nothing has changed.

He knows it’s dangerous to make assumptions, but then again, when has he ever had any ounce of self-control around Chloe Decker?                                

Because if he had been enchanted by her before, he’s bewitched now.               

After so many years in hell, his mind had shaped her image into a goddess.          

A real smile spreads across his features, and for a moment Lucifer forgets why he left in the first place. He breathes in the first real breath of air in a millennium, and holds back a cough as the sharp burn of humanity dries out his throat.

It takes only a moment for Lucifer to realize his mistake.                       

She’d heard him.        

Chloe whips around and the first thing Lucifer sees is her frown. It looks the same, with all of its sharp edges and no-nonsense air.                                   

Lucifer’s gaze travels down to devour the rest of her body, searching for new scars, new clothes, new _jewelry_ , but there’s nothing. This is Chloe Decker, looking not a day older than when the loft incident happened. Lucifer’s eyes crawl back up her toned legs, back to the frown he knew-- _knows_ so well. He should meet her eyes, but he’s not ready to see the fear that he knows will be hidden in those blue depths.                                    

So he focuses on her mouth, and watches as it momentarily softens with recognition, before turning brittle with hurt and anger.       

A pit forms in his stomach when she says nothing.

It was a risky decision to come back, Lucifer knows that. Part of him wishes he had stayed in Hell. Another, smaller part of him wishes he’d never run there in the first place. An even smaller part of him wishes he hadn’t run from the loft at all.       

“How was Vegas?” Chloe’s voice sounds strained.

“I wasn't in Vegas.”

“Where were you then?”                                    

He stays silent.

Her frown twists into something unreadable. “Fine. Don't tell me.”                    

Lucifer hates that some part of him savours the accusatory tone in her voice.            

“I didn’t know the big, bad Devil could be such a coward.”                       

There’s a hint of venom in her words that hadn’t been there before.               

Lucifer shudders. He doesn’t remember it being so cold. He doesn’t remember _her_ being so cold. He draws in another breath and this time it tastes like ash.        

Lucifer coughs again. The taste lingers.       

The room grows even colder. Lucifer chances another look around it.                

For all of the things that had stayed the same, something _is_ different. Fear slithers down his spine when Lucifer realizes he can’t put his finger on just _what_ is.  

Before he has time to ponder it, a sharp slap to the face finds him crumpled on the linoleum. Lucifer stares in shock at the familiar tiles. His brain tries to process what’s happened, but he can’t focus. His thoughts are hazy, and the lights are ringed with halos. Lucifer shakes his head. The room wobbles, and he feels sick.

He finally manages to look up. Chloe stands over him, grass green eyes flashing with contempt.           

Lucifer blinks. His vision distorts until all he can see are those green eyes.               

Green.                                                

Not blue.

And suddenly nothing seems familiar anymore.

Lucifer feels like his head is being held underwater.

His eyes dart across her face, desperately searching for any semblance of familiarity, but he finds nothing.

“You _left me!”_ She hisses.

Lucifer flinches at the dangerous tone in her voice. He tries to get to his feet, but his legs collapse underneath him. “Darling I didn’t--”   

“I _trusted_ you!” A bitter bark of laughter tears from her throat, and she shakes her head. “I trusted _you,_ the _Devil.”_

Her words burn, and Lucifer’s skin feels like it’s being flayed off his bones. His eyes snap down to his shaking hands, dreading what he knows he’ll find. Just as he’d imagined, blotches of olive flesh are burning away, dripping and pooling and smearing on the tile like some grisly Pollock painting. Blood mingles and blends in with the scalded skin of his Devil form, staining his hands a red so dark it’s black.                                       

Another set of coughs racks Lucifer’s mutilated body and it feels like his lungs are being dragged up his throat. “Chloe _please,”_ he whispers. For a split second, he forgets the fear in her unfamiliar eyes and reaches for her.                                        

Chloe snatches a knife from the butcher’s block on the counter, and brandishes it accusingly at his crumpled body. “Get out.”   

When Lucifer stays frozen in place, she tries again, and this time her voice cracks. “Get _out,_ you monster.”

Lucifer barely feels his feet begin to move. The world teeters and somehow he finds himself standing upright. Chloe tracks his every move, green eyes untrusting and full of cold-blooded hatred. He holds her unblinking stare, backing out of the kitchen until a dull _thud_ rings out behind him.                               

He’s made it to the door.                                    

But he can’t leave. Not now. Not when she’s still looking at him like that.               

“I love you,” he tries to say.                               

“No you don't Lucifer.”                                    

She says it with such certainty that Lucifer feels the knife in her hand twist through his heart.

 

Then, as if he’d never been gone, Lucifer finds himself back in Hell.               

A sense of déjà vu slides over him, and Lucifer shivers despite the heat.               

He’s standing in front of a cell.                        

The door is cracked open and he can just make out a sliver of the apartment he once knew so well. Looking past the living room and into the kitchen, he can see Chloe illuminated by the incessant light above the sink.                                       

It’s the same exact sight that greeted him ten minutes ago.                       

The door beckons him in, its invisible fingertips slink across his shoulders, down his arms, and grip his wrists, begging Lucifer to come inside yet again.

 _Next time will be different,_ they say.    

Lucifer offers his cell a bitter smile. He knows it won’t be. This is the three hundredth “next time”. And it’s always the same.              

Lucifer mumbles a prayer like he’s done the three hundred other times he’s crawled out of his cell. But as much as he hopes she’s listening, Lucifer knows better.                   

What, after all, is a prayer from the Devil truly worth? What is it compared to the ash and dust and death that make up his soul? What value does it have for his golden goddess to hear such sweet words from such a silver-tongued beast?

None.

Lucifer finds the strength to shut the door. Taking in a breath of ash-choked air, he tries to muster enough energy to lock it, but like every time before this, Lucifer can’t.                

He leaves his cell unlocked for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Pats and cats to titc because let's be real, she's the real mastermind behind this operation.


End file.
